Ashgrove School for Girls was in upheaval. The principal had been fired by the private board that ran things due some financial malfeasance. But the problems ran much deeper than that. These rich girls thought their excrement was perfumed. The inmates ran the asylum. The board hired a new principal, a woman for the first time, one with a resume strong in instilling discipline and maintaining good order. The very afternoon Ms. Clark was hired, she had the school secretary take dictation on a letter that went home to all parents and care-givers. That was on a Friday. It said that the letter should be signed, or the student would need to be withdrawn immediately for matriculation elsewhere, and the signed missive returned to school on Monday.
On Monday morning, a large sign was posted outside Principal Clark’s office.
It only added to the huge hub-bub in the hallways before the eight A.M. tardy bell. Even though the letter had been sealed, some students had broken the seal to read its contents. The contents made for some lively weekend conversation at the palatial homes around the private lake where Ashgrove was situated.
In her letter, Principal Clark stated that a new discipline policy had to be instituted to combat the rampant lawlessness in the institution. Corporal punishment would be enforced. The Principal said that she reserved the right to invoke a dress code for the students in the future if necessary, but was not taking this measure at present.
Mary Stevens perspective was indicative of the entire student body. She was a senior, with a very shapely student body. She’d spent the weekend yelling at her parents, but had returned the signed letter this morning to the collection box outside the austere columns of the edifice of the Ashgrove building. Ironically, first period, in Math class with Professor Rice, Mary turned around in her seat, oblivious to the on-going instruction, and loudly proclaimed to her friend, Cassey the following declaration.
It was ironic because Mrs. Rice administered a pop quiz in Math the second half of the period, Mary was caught trying to cheat on the quiz. That, and the infraction of talking in class, was written on the referral that Mary carried to the new Principal’s office. Because Jennifer was letting Mary copy her test answers, she was sent down, too, with her own referral.
Both girls were called into Ms. Clark’s inner sanctum. There Mary stated flatly her firmly held belief that she would not be paddled, that she “was above such childish reprimands!”
Ms. Clark lifted the receiver of her desk telephone and held it out to Mary.
“Call your parents to come pick you up, then. You are expelled and will need to transfer to the public school.”
Mary knew that her parents would not bail her out, would not come pick her up. She sat back in her chair and steamed.
“Jennifer, you’ll go first. Five swats with the paddle for cheating. Stand up, bend over my desk, and read the sign aloud as I carry-out the punishment.”
The near-tears girl obeyed, felt her skirt lifted and her lace underwear pulled into the crack of her ass.
Mary knew the paddling hurt from its loud report off the office walls, the equally loud, “Umpft!” that Jennifer exclaimed with the initial blow, the way she balled during the other four swats.
“And if you are ever sent back to this office again, Jennifer,” Ms. Clark said, putting down the wooden paddle and picking up the short-handled carpet-beater, “you’ll get a stern lesson with this. So as not to make idle threats, you ought to experience what this implement feels like…”
The outcry that Jennifer made from this one wallop superseded all the ruckus that she’d made for the five previous paddle swats. She stood bolt upright, clutched her wounded bottom, danced, sobbed, generally made a spectacle of herself.
“Sit down and watch your classmate take her punishment,” Ms. Clark instructed.
“Must I, Ms? It hurts like a motherf… it hurts a hell of a lot!”
“You may stand if you wish.” She turned to Mary, who was ashen-faced. “Your turn, ten with the paddle for all your offenses, then two with the carpet-beater.”
Unlike all of her protestations, Mary silently rose from her seat, wriggled her tight blue jeans down to below her buttocks, and hobbled over to the edge of the desk. Mary bent, felt her turquoise underpants pulled up her crack in the most humiliating wedgie of all of her eighteen years.
“Why don’t you count these strokes aloud, Mary, so that I don’t lose track and give you extras? Oh, by the way, miss the count, or raise too much of a fuss, and I WILL give you extra swats. Don’t let these ten become twenty… Take your medicine, girl…”
The two contrite seniors minced their way with painful small steps back to class. It was amazing how, seeing these ringleaders so remorseful and chastised, the word spread and student behavior straightened up immediately.
Math teacher Mrs. Rice came to Ms. Clark between classes in a rush of elation.
“It did my heart so much good to see Mary Stevens come back to class limping and openly rubbing her sore seat! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
Principal Clark put her thumbs inside her belt loops like it was a gun-belt and holster, and puffed out her chest.
“There’s a new sheriff in town. Think nothing of it. Tell me if you have any more trouble in class.”